


To Wash Away the Worst of Me

by Kika988



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drug Use, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kika988/pseuds/Kika988
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When it finally sinks in that Dean didn't want him, Castiel will do almost anything to numb the pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Wash Away the Worst of Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nicari_chan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicari_chan/gifts).



> This fic was a response to a challenge to write a fic for In My Remains by Linkin Park. The title comes straight from the song, and is much of what inspired what I wrote. It is painful and dark, and only Destiel if you are looking for it. Let me know what you think! Many thanks to Nienna Nir for her help with part of this.

The first few days, there was only numbness. He felt the pain, the sting of rejection, but only distantly. He replied to Dean’s texts on the phone he was given with safe, one-word replies. Yes, he ate. Yes, he had somewhere safe to sleep. Yes, he would call if he needed help. 

He threw away the credit card Dean had given him the second day, too ashamed to use it. He didn’t want to be a financial burden from afar any more than he wanted to be a physical one in the bunker. He kept the cash that the hunter had pushed into his hands, but he didn’t use it, instead burying it under the layers of t-shirts and sweaters in the backpack Dean had packed for him. 

He’d been so eager for Cas to leave, he’d packed a bag for him. 

That was the thought that finally broke through the fog, on day five, as he was digging in the bag for a clean shirt, while a bedraggled man with a gray beard watched on enviously from under the nearby overpass. His hands clenched in sudden anger -- hadn’t he said they were family? For all his mistakes, wasn’t that still worth anything? -- and he stood, carrying the bag over to the man and dropping it beside him before walking off with only the cell and some change in his pockets. He didn’t even turn around when the man cried out his thanks -- they weren’t really Castiel’s things to be thanked for, after all. 

The cell battery died later that afternoon. He had given away the charger in the bag, but he kept the phone anyway. 

He spent some nights in homeless shelters, but more often than not they were overcrowded and he left to leave room for someone else, so he would end up sleeping under an overpass, or on a park bench, or sometimes in a quiet parking lot, until a police officer or property owner showed up to run him off. He mostly lived off spare change he found on sidewalks and in parking lots -- it was amazing what people left behind, really -- but sometimes someone would take pity and buy him a meal. It would always remind him of April, and he would wonder if any of their interaction had actually been her, or if the whole thing had been just an angry reaper. 

It was when it started getting colder that the trouble really began. As the nights grew colder he began to regret giving away the warm clothes Dean had sent with him. Change was harder to find when fewer people were walking, and with everyone rushing out of the cold, fewer people had time to stop and buy a friendly-looking homeless man lunch. He looked for work, but his oddities and unkempt appearance put most people off, and his skills were limited to things mostly useless in the real world. 

He hadn’t eaten in two days when she saw him. She was too skinny, much like himself, but her smile was sweet and her touch gentle, so when she invited him inside he accepted readily. Even after she fed him a sandwich, he was too weak to be quite as adventurous as he had been with April, but she -- Ashley, her name was -- didn’t seem disappointed. It was his first time sleeping somewhere warm in weeks, and as nice as the sex was, that was even better. 

The next day she slept late, even later than he did, and when she asked him to come with her to a party that night, he readily agreed -- she had, after all, fed him and given him a place to sleep.

The ‘party’ was at someone’s apartment, as sparsely furnished as Ashley’s had been, and filled with a sweet-smelling smoke that made Cas feel light-headed and pleasant. It was a nice feeling, so when someone offered him a smoking stick, saying it would only make it better, he smiled his thanks. 

It was the first night since leaving the bunker that Dean didn’t cross his mind. 

He woke with a sick sense of guilt in his stomach, and was violently ill until Ashley persuaded him to eat something, but when they went back to the apartment that afternoon, he once again accepted the smoke, craving the sweet fog that blocked out the painful memories he was running from. 

He fell in with the people who showed up at the apartment almost every night; he was almost like a pet, sometimes staying with Ashley, sometimes with Scott, sometimes with Lena. They found his oddities endearing, so they fed him when he needed it, and accepted anything he said easily without prying into his background. He worked when he could to buy food, but when he couldn’t he was usually still fed, and there was always more of the sweet smoke when he needed it, which was more and more often. 

One night Liz pressed a pill under his tongue and he felt like he was flying. It wasn’t as wonderful as he remembered it. 

There were more pills, and more people, more faces that he couldn’t remember, more bodies pressed against his that felt nice but were still wrong, but since he couldn’t figure out why he resolved to enjoy the warmth anyway. Sometimes he fell in love, but it always faded with the morning light. 

The night Scott found Cas cradling his cell phone, long dead, he had laughed. “I have chargers coming out my ass, man,” he said. “What kind is it?” When Cas had shrugged, Scott had snatched up the phone, narrowed his eyes at the input, and laughed. “Yeah, I got you, man. Come on.” He’d led the way back to his room, as dingy and dark as it always was, and dug around in a box of tangled wires til he emerged with one. “This should work,” he said as he took the phone and plugged it in by the bed. Cas shrugged and swallowed a pill.

He woke the next morning in Scott’s bed, the other man sprawled partially on top of him. He had just started extricating himself when he saw the blinking display on the cell phone by the bed. 

99+ Messages

He climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants -- not his, but they fit -- and a shirt, took the phone and charger, and slipped out the front door. He argued with himself for six blocks before he worked up the nerve to look at the messages. He settled on the sidewalk with his back against a building, momentarily grateful that the weather was getting warmer again. He hadn’t noticed til now. After a deep breath, he flipped the phone open and clicked open his messages. 

Dean (10.24.13)  
You okay today?

Cas?

This isn’t funny, answer me.

Dean (10.25.13)  
Are you okay? Please answer. 

I’m sorry, you know that, right?

I understand if you’re pissed just let me know you’re okay

Dean (10.26.13)  
If I don’t hear from you today I’m going to come looking for you. 

Dean (10.27.13)  
Sam talked me out of coming after you. Says maybe you need space or something. 

I get that. Just… let me know you’re okay.

After that it was just one text a day -- sometimes saying they were leaving the bunker for a few days, but they would be back soon. Some said Sam was better. Some were angry, demanding to know where he was, if he was okay. Most were simple. 

I miss you. 

Come home. 

Castiel practically ran back to Scott’s apartment, let himself in, and dry-swallowed two pills he found lying on the counter. 

Later that afternoon he woke to Scott shoving a bowl of cereal at him -- dry, since he was out of milk. He crunched silently on a few pieces, but mostly left it untouched. Scott raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, offering him a smoke -- a joint, he had since learned they were called -- instead. 

The high didn’t last as long as it used to, so by the time night fell he was back to glaring at his phone as if it had offended him. Ashley showed up sometime after dark, and noticed his sour mood immediately. 

“Got a call you didn’t like?” Cas shrugged. He hadn’t even considered checking his voice messages til she said that. She frowned at his lack of answer, and pressed a bottle of pills into his hands. “You look like you need these more than I do. Go easy," she warned him before wandering off. Cas looked at his phone for a long moment before downing two pills dry. 

It didn’t take long for the effects to kick in, but he still remembered and he still hurt. Months spent forgetting, pushing Dean to the back of his mind, and now after seeing those messages he couldn’t get them out of his mind, not even when he was floating, flying. He couldn’t forget bright green eyes that seemed so happy to see him, and so sad to see him go -- not that that stopped him from kicking me out, Cas thought bitterly. He swallowed two more pills and flipped his phone open, punching buttons angrily. 

The phone hadn’t even completed its first ring when it was cut off suddenly. 

“Cas?” For all that he’d been glaring at the phone all day, he really had not prepared himself at all to hear Dean’s voice. He sounded worried, terrified, and somehow grateful all at once. Cas felt his throat close up as his mouth worked ineffectually. “Cas? Is that you? Are you there?” 

“Dean,” he finally croaked. The line went dead silent. Cas felt as if his heart jumped out of rhythm. Maybe it did. 

“Cas,” Dean finally breathed out again. “Where are you? Are you okay?” Cas clenched his trembling fingers and tried to control his breathing, which was speeding up without his permission. 

“I’m…” Well, he wasn’t fine, not really. But Dean didn’t need to know that. He wasn’t his responsibility, not anymore. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice breathy. He was breathing too fast but couldn’t seem to calm down. 

“You don’t sound fine,” Dean said, as if he could know, after all this time. “Where are you?” 

“Scott’s,” Cas said, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He thought he had something else to say, but the thought left as soon as it occurred, floating out of his mind and lingering in the air with the smoke that swirled around him. He huffed out a laugh and lifted a trembling hand to draw in the smoke. The laugh turned into a whine as the smoke morphed into faces with biting leviathan jaws, snapping ever closer to his face. 

“Cas, what’s wrong? What is it?” Dean demanded. Castiel opened his mouth to answer, but couldn’t force the words out past the clacking of his teeth together. Seconds later his trembling turned to shaking and he lost his grip on the phone, and it clattered noisily to the ground. Spots danced before his eyes, weaving between and in front of the smoke-Leviathan, and the edges of his vision darkened as he saw Ashley stumbling to his side. The last thing he heard as he slid to the floor was Dean’s tinny, terrified voice inches from his ear. 

“Cas? What’s happening? Please, man…. Cas!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Cas was groaning before he even opened his eyes. Everything hurt. Every muscle in his body felt overtaxed, his head was pounding, and his chest ached every time he drew in a breath. He let out a pained groan as the overhead light assaulted his eyes, and felt something tighten around his fingers. 

“Cas?”

And that made his chest hurt for entirely different reasons. He opened his mouth to try to speak, but all that came out was a raspy croak. 

“Oh, uh… just a second.” The pressure around his fingers left, and he heard things moving by his head. Castiel tried once again to open his eyes, just a sliver, and was rewarded with the sight of a blurry Dean hovering over him with a plastic spoon and small styrofoam cup. "It's only ice chips," he said apologetically, "But it's better than nothing, right?" Castiel nodded solemnly and opened his mouth gratefully. 

The ice chips Dean spoon-fed him slid smoothly down his throat, leaving paths of fire in their wake. He cleared his throat, and must have made a pained face, judging by Dean's thinned lips. 

"They pumped your stomach, so your throat's gonna be pretty sore for a while," he said, his voice gruff. 

"How?" 

"Told 'em I was your brother." It wasn't the question Castiel had meant, but despite Dean's worried expression he had a moment of irrational anger at the presumption. 

"No," Cas finally croaked. "How did you find me?" Dean stared at him for a long moment before answering. 

"Traced the cell, then called hospitals about John Does of your description til I got a hit," he said shortly. "They said they got an anonymous 911 call about an overdose, picked you up somewhere downtown." His jaw clenched, his eyes hard on Castiel's. "Cas, man, you almost died. What were you doing? I mean--" his voice strained, choked. "Were you... Was it..." 

"I was not trying to kill myself," Castiel heard himself say. Dean slumped a little, as if some of the tension holding him upright had been cut. He all but collapsed into a nearby chair, and Cas felt a pang of guilt as he noticed how much older Dean looked than when he’d last seen him. 

“Come home with me.” Dean’s voice cut into the silence that was quickly growing awkward. “Please,” he added, as an afterthought. 

Cas stared at Dean for a long moment before he answered. “Why? I am of no use to you as a human.” He paused to drink some of the water that had melted off the ice chips. “Worse, a human addicted to narcotics,” he said with a harsh laugh. 

“You didn’t know--”

“Oh, I knew,” Castiel assured him. “I may not have known the modern names for everything I took, but I knew well what I was doing. I just didn’t care,” he said flatly. He stared up at the ceiling. “At least they could tolerate me,” he said, not bothering to hide the bitterness. He saw Dean’s flinch from the corner of his eye. 

“Cas,” Dean said, sounding broken. It was enough to drag Castiel’s gaze back to the hunter. “I never wanted you to leave,” he said fiercely. “Never. I wasn’t given a choice, okay? I was being blackmailed. If I’d had more time, I might could have figured something out, but…” He shook his head in frustration. Cas blinked in confusion. 

“You didn’t want me to go?” Dean’s head snapped up. 

“Hell, no! After all we’ve been through, did you really think I’d kick you out without good reason?” He looked pained. “I don’t know where you were staying, but if they let you get like this…”

“They took care of me,” Castiel countered, though his voice was less certain now. “They fed me and gave me a place to sleep. They helped me forget,” he added quietly. 

“I’ve seen what you turn into when you try to forget,” Dean said, his voice strained. “I-” He cut himself off abruptly as the doctor stepped into the room. 

The ER doctor raised a suspicious eyebrow at Dean, but didn’t comment as she launched into a brief explanation of what they had done for Cas. Basically they had pumped his stomach and given him some medication to help lower his blood pressure, which was through the roof when they picked him up. She explained that he could leave whenever he wanted, but she would recommend a local rehab facility that would take him in. 

“Is this something he’ll need medicine to help him kick?” Dean asked. She eyed him shrewdly for a moment before answering. 

“No. The facility is more for helping him get through the withdrawals without turning back to drugs,” she explained. “The worst of it should be over in five days or so.” She turned to Cas. “If there is someone you trust to take care of you for a week,” she said, eyes flicking to Dean. “That is also an option.” Castiel nodded his understanding. “I’ll have a nurse bring your discharge papers by,” she said with an encouraging smile before turning to leave. “You seem like a nice guy, Castiel. Good luck.”

Silence fell over the room after she left. Castiel sat up in bed and tugged the hospital gown off of his arms to pool around his waist. He was reaching for his shirt when he felt warm fingers slide over his wrist. He looked up to see that Dean had stood and come to his bedside. 

“Cas, please,” he said, his voice rough. “Come home.” Castiel looked down at the fingers on his wrist for a long moment. He remembered rebuilding those fingers from the bone up, constructing them from the cellular level and thinking, even then, even before he had stepped back to look at the man as a whole, that this human’s beauty stood out among all the others. 

He couldn’t lie to himself, not now, in this stark white room with his sore throat and aching body. He knew it wouldn’t be easy -- in a few hours he’d want something to take the edge off of his pain. But he couldn’t help wondering somewhere in the back of his mind, if he would have as much pain to try to escape from if he was back at Dean’s side. He shifts his hand slightly to move Dean’s fingers from his wrist to his hand, where he threads his own fingers through them. 

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to catch all my fics and drabbles as I post them, follow me at feathers-n-freckles.tumblr.com. If you want to see what *I* read and love, check out my fanfic rec blog at fanficbuffet.tumblr.com. Come say hi!


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